The Dark Ascent

by Walter H Hunt

  The reason for this was simple. Once it reached diplomatic ears on Zor'a, rumors would fly in all directions. Obviously the emperor believed there was more to the story and that it could be kept under wraps somehow here on Oahu. The High Chamberlain's instructions on the point had been succinct and vague: "Tell the emperor all that he is able to comprehend." It was about what Boyd would have expected from ha T'te'e.

  The overhead light went off, indicating that the shuttle was secure. He stood and moved toward the exit, briefcase in hand.

  As Boyd floated toward the tarmac he was struck with the balmy, humid air of Hawaii. It was a marked change from the damp and chilly rainstorm he had left behind in Genéve. At the bottom, Mya'ar HeChra, the High Lord's esGyu'u (literally "talon"; but, in translation, "ambassador") to the court of the emperor, was waiting for him.

  "My old friend," Boyd said, followed by a ritual greeting phrase in the Highspeech. Mya'ar extended taloned hands to grasp Boyd's forearms.

  "Good health to you, se Randall," Mya'ar replied. They began to walk across the tarmac toward the domed entrance to the Imperial enclosure.

  "So, se Mya'ar. Bring me up-to-date."

  "Ah." The zor let his wings flutter a bit. "As you can well imagine, the emperor is most disturbed by the remarks of the High Lord, and his . . ."

  " . . . indiscretions."

  "I suppose you might call them that, yes. The broadcast was closely scrutinized and a close advisor to the Throne has made a rather astute observation: that se Sergei was unarmed when he returned to the High Nest. The explanation of the High Chamberlain was rather obtuse, at least by naZora'i standards. I am not sure why, but I expect ha T'te'e has his reasons. Your visit to Genéve and your summons to the emperor's presence will only compound the uproar."

  Randall smiled; Mya'ar had not meant it to sound so much like an accusation. "It didn't seem like the sort of thing best broadcast for anyone to overhear. What's more, I don't think ha T'te'e cares very much about what sort of uproar he causes."

  "If the emperor receives you in open court, se Randall, and begins asking questions, the answers will be on the 'net in a few sixty-fourths of a sun.

  "I do not expect the emperor to do this, but I am sure you will be interrogated just as I was. I was questioned at length about se Commodore Laperriere, si Commander HeYen and the Cicero matter. I had little to report and no specific orders regarding the path I should fly. I assume you are better informed."

  "I have the whole story," Boyd said, patting his briefcase.

  "What will you tell them? The emperor will ask you to reveal everything, since you are, after all, a human first and a servant of the High Nest second." Mya'ar's wings changed configuration, revealing a note of irony in his comment.

  Boyd smiled. "They will not like what they hear."

  "Will that change your story, my friend?"

  "No, I don't think so. Someone's got to tell the emperor what's going on; that's why there's an envoy."

  "And an esGyu'u."

  "And an esGyu'u," Randall agreed.

  The lift brought them down to a large sunroom set into the cliffs of Diamond Head. The room was constructed on a gentle curve, sweeping over several dozen meters, and was tiled in a cream-colored marble. The permaglas windows gave a breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean. The rays of afternoon sun honeyed the tile and cast a long shadow from the man waiting to receive them.

  "hi Emperor," Mya'ar said, inclining his head.

  "Your Highness," Randall added. He glanced beyond the emperor; there were several servants hovering at a respectful distance, but a small glowing pin on the emperor's lapel indicated that a privacy shield was active—sound and vision were blurred beyond a few meters.

  It meant the emperor was concerned about the subject to be discussed, and that he had absolute trust in the two people with whom he would be discussing it. Both facts sent a message.

  "So good of you to join me," the emperor said at last. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to speak with you recently."

  "I thank Your Highness for his time," Boyd replied.

  "I understand that there is some explanation for the incident we recently witnessed at A'alu Spaceport," the emperor said, directly to the point. "Perhaps you can elucidate."

  "I'm . . . not sure where to begin, sire."

  "We are at war, young man, and the High Nest is our ally . . . I presume?"

  "Very much so, Your Highness. We have a common enemy."

  "The . . . esGa'uYal, I suppose you would say."

  "The aliens, sire. They are one and the same."

  "And they have the zor sword of state?"

  "Yes, sire, they do."

  "Ah. Now we progress." The emperor looked out across the ocean. The sun dappled his features. "I assume that the Gyaryu'har—Mr. Torrijos—is in his present condition because of the absence of this talisman?"

  "That is correct, sire."

  "And it was taken while he was at Cicero?"

  "Yes, Your Highness, when the aliens took control of Cicero Down."

  The emperor turned and fixed Boyd with a glance, a frown deepening on his face. "Then answer me this, Envoy. I am aware that Torrijos was sent to Cicero—'placed upon the dark path,' I believe the High Lord said at the time—because of a dream. But if Torrijos is important to the High Nest and the sword is important to Torrijos, then why in the hell was it left in harm's way long enough for it to be actually captured? It doesn't make any sense to me. I am ready for my explanation now."

  Boyd took a breath and considered the answer he would give. He had known this question would be posed; it was a matter of deciding how he would respond.

  "The High Nest chose to send the Gyaryu'har to Cicero precisely so this would happen. It was expecting that the sword would be taken, sire—indeed, the High Nest did not expect se Sergei to survive at all."

  "They sent him to die?"

  "He is a warrior, Your Highness."

  "He is in a coma, Envoy. This entire matter is insane. It's some part of an insane plan from an insane High Lord."

  "I wish it were that simple, Your Highness."

  The emperor turned away from the High Nest envoy to look at the zor who shared the private interview. Mya'ar stood unmoving on the perch.

  "Enlighten me."

  "Insane or not, Your Highness, the High Lord Ke'erl knew with certainty that there was grave and imminent danger. It was felt there was no one who would accept this information . . . considering its source."

  "I have . . . read the reports of the commander at Cicero, and reviewed the Admiralty investigation. I believe this information has been released to the Envoy's Office and to the High Chamberlain."

  Boyd nodded in agreement.

  "Does all of this correspond to the knowledge that the High Lord possesses?"

  "It confirms a number of things, sire. It portrays the aliens as inimical, both to mankind and to the People. It shows them to be powerful Sensitives with abilities whose strength and scope far outweigh ours—they can portray or perhaps even assume the form of other beings. There's every reason to believe this has been done already."

  "Meaning—"

  "There might be aliens disguised as humans or zor already within the Empire. Perhaps even here at court or in the High Nest. There is no way to know."

  The emperor paled at that statement, as if the full understanding of its meaning had just descended upon him.

  "Already."

  "The High Chamberlain believes that to be the case, sire. If the infiltration of Cicero had not been accidentally discovered, this might never have even been suspected."

  "We are already lost," the emperor said softly.

  "Not if Qu'u returns," Mya'ar interjected. It was the first comment he had made during the entire conversation, and it caused both the emperor and the envoy to look at him.

  "I assume," the emperor said, after a moment, to Boyd without looking away from the zor, "that you understand what he means."

  "The hero who will
recover the sword placed in the possession of the aliens is the only hope for both races. It is why the sword was allowed to be captured: The High Lord believed that circumstances would call forth a new hero, a new Qu'u."

  "And has this happened?"

  "The High Nest is satisfied that it has, sire," Boyd said.

  "Who would this 'hero' be?"

  Boyd told him; and as the emperor sat and listened, he seemed overwhelmed by the complexity of the thing. The envoy, for his part, felt it necessary to clarify the process by which the choice had come to pass. Boyd thought that hearing a description of the sequence of events from the zor point of view must seem surreal; it was as if the emperor's hold on the whole situation had been uprooted and set adrift, with nothing to hang on to. Gambling the entire Empire as well as the People on a single toss was no less unnerving, especially since the emperor himself had no consent in, and no control over, the outcome.

  Six hours later, a high-priority shuttle arrived at Honolulu Port from halfway around the globe. It was met by a 'copter at a private pad, already mostly occupied by a human and a rashk. The rashk, a lizard with six limbs, was wearing something that looked like a tent-sized purple silk bathrobe with the Imperial Intelligence emblem over the breast; he spread across two normal human-sized seats and had to incline his head to fit his two-meter-high frame into the compartment.

  After the briefest of greetings, the prime minister—who had come all the way from Genéve at his emperor's summons— boarded the 'copter, which took off and flew toward the 'Iolani Palace in central Honolulu, a few flying-minutes away.

  "Thank you for responding so quickly, Ahmad," the prime minister said, when the 'copter was in the air. "I'd rather have you here in person than just on comm."

  "It's blind luck." The director of Imperial Intelligence, a portly, middle-aged man, was not as familiar a face as the prime minister—most citizens on the street wouldn't have picked him out of a crowd of Imperial bureaucrats. Which was, of course, just as he wanted it. "If M'm'e'e Sha'kan and I weren't already in New Los Angeles instead of out at Langley, David, comm is all you'd have gotten."

  The rashk, M'm'e'e Sha'kan, said nothing but sat stolidly, his four arms slowly weaving some pattern. In fact, he seemed to be asleep, head bent toward his chest—except that his middle eye was cracked slightly open, as if following the conversation.

  "I think it'll be best for us to brief the emperor together."

  "Meaning you'd be just as happy not to do it alone."

  The prime minister didn't answer.

  "By the way, David, I agree. Do you know what the representatives of the High Nest had to say to the emperor?"

  "It was a private conversation." The prime minister folded his hands and looked out across the Pacific Ocean at the glorious sunset. Beats the hell out of the sunsets over Lac Lèman, he thought.

  "My question remains."

  "Yes, of course I know. It told us very little we don't already know—the High Nest arranged for the sword to be taken away, but has sent the Cicero commander to retrieve it."

  "An unlikely choice," the director said.

  "'Of the ocean, a wave a part only is,'" rumbled the rashk. Both men turned to look at him.

  "Rashk proverb," the director explained.

  "Meaning—"

  "Meaning is," M'm'e'e Sha'kan said, stopping the movement of his arms, "that we not the entire pattern perceive can says not that there no pattern is. For zor People, water deep is, ocean wide is." Two of his arms landed with a slap on his thighs, muffled through his hydrating robe.

  "Still," the director said, "we've been working on this since Cicero was evacuated. It's clear that the zor have an end in mind—but we just can't see what it is."

  "His Highness won't be happy with that answer."

  "David, no one knows how the zor think. They—"

  "Zor know, how think zor," M'm'e'e Sha'kan said. "Time it is, them to ask."

  "The emperor asked them," the prime minister said, turning on the rashk. "Do you know what they said about our commodore? 'She climbs the Perilous Stair.' What in hell does that mean?"

  "In legend—" M'm'e'e began, but the prime minister held up his hand. Both of the rashk's left hands rose to mimic the gesture.

  "No," the prime minister said. The rashk's pairs of arms began to move in weaving patterns again. "In the real world," the prime minister continued, "they know where she is—where is it?"

  "Some data available is," the rashk answered quietly.

  "Oh?"

  "We know that Laperriere was aboard Crossover Station," the director said, "and that her exec—"

  "Hyos," M'm'e'e interjected.

  "Ch'k'te HeYen," the director said, frowning. "Her exec was killed aboard the station and Commodore Laperriere left somehow. She was clearly not afterward aboard the merchanter that took her there."

  "And we know that because—"

  "Because, David, that ship has been recalled to active service and is part of Admiral Hsien's command. Laperriere is not aboard."

  "Has anyone thought to ask the captain of this merchanter what happened?"

  "I don't believe anyone in Hsien's command is aware of Laperriere. She and HeYen boarded the ship under assumed names."

  "A human and a zor traveling together might attract some attention, you'd think," the prime minister said. He looked out the 'copter's window; they were just crossing the Nimitz gevway by Aloha Tower—'Iolani Palace was not far away.

  "They were both gone by the time this ship was called to service. Laperriere is gone—and honestly, no one knows where she is."

  "The emperor isn't going to like that answer, either."

  The 'Iolani Palace was just ahead; the 'copter was beginning its descent toward the pad on the roof.

  "Then we'll have to come up with some more questions," the director said.

  M'm'e'e Sha'kan said nothing, but merely waved his arms in pairs, his face reflecting the last light of day.

  Two hundred and fifty parsecs away, the High Lord felt the configuration of the Plain of Despite begin to resolve into a new pattern.

  As he dreamed, the tiny shred of self that had not been consumed by the madness of knowledge fought to hold on, talons extended, wings forming the Stance of Defiant Anger. The esGa'uYal were beginning to stir.

  Chapter 5

  THE LEGEND OF QU'U (continued)

  STEP BY STEP AND ONE CLAWHOLD OVER ANOTHER, THE

  LONE HERO QU'U CLIMBED THE LAST SEVERAL

  SIXTY-FOURS OF WINGSPANS, COMING AT LAST IN [Cloak Against Despite]

  SIGHT OF THE FORTRESS OF DESPITE. LIGHTNINGS

  CASCADED ACROSS THE TURRETS, HIGHLIGHTING THE

  PROFILE OF THE BATTLEMENTS WITH FIERY LIGHT.

  QU'U DID NOT BELIEVE THAT HE APPROACHED [Eyes of esGa'u]

  UNNOTICED. THE ENCOUNTER WITH ENGA'E'REN HAD

  CONVINCED HIM THAT SERVANTS OF THE DECEIVER WERE

  EVERYWHERE IN THE PLAIN OF DESPITE.

  INDEED, HE THOUGHT TO HIMSELF. HOW CAN I HOPE TO

  PREVAIL IF DESPITE CAN COMMAND SO MANY ALLIES?

  WHAT WILL CONFRONT ME NOW?

  The esGa'uYal are beginning to stir, the voice in Jackie's mind said, as she drifted between sleeping and waking.

  "I don't want to hear it," she said, and burrowed farther beneath the blanket. Her voice seemed to echo across a great distance, as if she were on the top of a high mountain. The words were broken apart and carried away by the wind . . .

  The wind blew around her, whistling through the holes in her cloak where, if she were one of the People, her wings would have gone. From where she stood she could see the ghoulish shadows of the rocky, icy Plain far below. The huge mass of the Fortress of Despite towered above her; the glow of her chya seemed almost feeble by comparison. Ch'k'te, his ethereal, almost transparent body hunched against the extreme cold, and Th'an'ya, her aura glowing faintly blue, stood by, as if waiting for Jackie to take action.

  "We have come so far, se Jackie,"
Th'an'ya said over the sound of the wind, though she did not seem to be raising her voice. "You must complete the legend."

  It was incongruous: Jackie knew that on the Perilous Stair, Qu'u was alone—in the legend, he spoke of being the "lone hero."

  "I must?" She held up her chya and even Th'an'ya stepped back. "We have gone through all kinds of hell for that damned sword. I have followed my instincts and my abilities; I have been as close to Qu'u as I could be: I have faced demons and shadows. I have climbed the Perilous Stair and now you're telling me that I have to . . . I have to 'transcend the Outer Peace'? I've come all this way to commit suicide?"

  "In the legend," Ch'k'te said, the wind almost taking his voice away, "Qu'u knows that it is his duty to confront esGa'u the sorcerer and take the gyaryu from the Fortress." He gestured toward the castle. "It is why we are here. esLiHeYar, se Jackie."

  "If we're correct," she heard herself say, "we're really standing outside the fortress of the leader of the aliens, Ch'k'te. She'll drop us back into reality, whatever the hell that means. Then she'll rip my head off.

  "You're already dead and Th'an'ya is no more than a hsi-image in my mind, so you two have nothing to worry about. Qu'u was made immortal by the Lord esLi because he was willing to let esGa'u rip his head off. I have no guarantee that the Lord esLi will do the same for me."

  Th'an'ya's sharp intake of breath was audible even above the storm.

  Keeping the Fortress visible in the corner of her eye, Jackie made her way along the ledge to Th'an'ya's glowing form. "What is it, Th'an'ya? Does my lack of faith disturb you? Did you think that searching for the gyaryu would truly transform me somehow? I may be the heir of Qu'u, but I am not Qu'u himself. I may serve the People in this quest, but I am not one of the People. I cannot be one.

  "I will not walk in there and destroy myself for no purpose. One of the People might be willing to do that, but I am not."

  As the three figures watched, the lightning illuminated the great Fortress in pale light, and it seemed in that moment to resemble nothing less than a huge caricature of the aliens she had met at Crossover and at Cicero. As she looked at it, unable to turn away, she saw the great hinged doors of the tower opening, revealing a ghastly cerulean light that surrounded—